Failing Safely
by Kizmet
Summary: Superboy begins to suffer from clone degradation.
1. Degradation

**Degredation**

**Disclaimer:** Characters and premise are the property of DC, I'm just borrowing them for a little non-profit fun.

The notion for this story comes from the following YJ_Anon_Meme prompt:

_Superboy starts to suffer from clone degeneration. He tries to keep it secret from the team, the team find out. The team tries to keep it secret from their mentors (paranoid about how they'll treat the news, since they're not exactly happy about a clone of Superman running around), maybe getting desperate as they try and reverse it, but they end up failing at that, too. Anything else is up to the author. _

* * *

Twisting around to look at his back in the mirror Superboy glared at the spot on his back. It was an unhealthy looking greenish thing just below his left shoulder blade. He stretched and contorted his body until he could watch in the mirror as his fingers sought out the spot and probed it roughly. It felt soft and mushy in contrast with the surrounding, normal tissue. When he moved a faint tugging told him the muscles under the spot weren't contracting like they should. It was only about the size of his fist, not big enough to affect his mobility, but it was bigger now than it had been a week ago when he first noticed it.

Superboy pulled his shirt back on and resolutely turned his back on the mirror.

Two weeks later, when he noticed another spot beginning to form on his arm Superboy went out and bought several long-sleeved tee-shirts with the S-Shield printed on them. He stuck with black shirts because the color didn't show it when pus oozed out of the older spot. The spot that was slowly but surely turning into a black, rotting pit in his back.

* * *

Aqualad opened his door at the sound of a hesitant knock.

"Kaldur, could I talk to you?" Robin asked.

"Come in," Aqualad replied, holding the door open for the younger boy.

Robin wasted several moments examining the Atlantean's quarters. He picked up a shell, glanced at the ceiling light in which the normal white light had been replaced with a much softer, bluer bulb. Robin didn't show any sign of bringing up the topic that brought him there.

"You wanted to talk?" Aqualad prompted.

Robin grimaced. "Superboy's favoring his left side," he said quickly. "I didn't want to say anything, 'specially to Batman or one of the other mentors..."

"Because it feels like tattling," Kaldur finished.

Robin nodded miserably. "It's not like I've never hid it when I did something stupid and hurt myself. I can tell Supey's trying to cover it. At first I thought maybe he'd pulled a muscle or something stupid, I though it was something like when I sprained my ankle show-boating while I was fighting Mad Hatter. I really didn't want Batman knowing about that, it was stupid, and really not that big of a deal. I thought it was like that, I get why he'd keep it quite, so I didn't want to say anything..." Robin trailed off, he fidgeted with the shell uncomfortably. "But I've been watching him for eight days. It's getting worse not better. I'm starting to worry." He looked up at Kaldur, "What if it's not just a strain or something?"

"Why are you telling me this?" Kaldur asked.

Robin gave him a hopeful look. "Supey listens to you more than the rest of us. You know he's sort of prickly. I didn't want to get him all defensive. And what if it is nothing? I really don't want to have told Batman on him if it's nothing important."

'And I'm team leader. It's my responsibility to judge what needs to be passed up to our mentors,' Kaldur thought. 'I should have noticed something was wrong myself.'

* * *

Kaldur stood in the shadows surrounding the team's gym, watching Superboy stretch. Now that he was looking for it the reason for Robin's concern was plainly apparent. There were hitches in the way Superboy moved; short falters, as if his coordination or muscles had failed him briefly. The longer Kaldur watched the more convinced he became that Superboy couldn't lift his left arm above shoulder level.

"You should let someone know if you're injured," Kaldur said quietly.

Superboy spun around and stared at him with wide frightened eyes. "I'm sorry," he blurted out guiltily. "I can still fight. I'm still useful. Don't take me off the team, please? Please, don't tell?"

Kaldur stared at Superboy in confusion. "You're hurt. You need to tell someone so you can get treatment."

"Please? Please don't tell. Don't take me off the team. I'm still useful," Superboy reiterated and Kaldur wasn't certain the other boy had heard or understood him at all.

Kaldur frowned, he honestly didn't know what to make of Superboy's reaction. He seemed terrified of having his injuries discovered. It simply didn't make sense. He could understand Robin feeling embarrassed at injuring himself through carelessness, but this was an entirely different level of wanting to hide an injury which seemed completely irrational to Kaldur.

It made him want to agree to Superboy's request just to erase the fear from his eyes. But Kaldur remembered the way Superboy had moved. "Let me see it," Kaldur bargained, maybe with more information he could justify giving in to Superboy's wishes. "Then I'll decided whether or not we need to tell one of the mentors."

Superboy shrank away from him defensively.

"Please," Kaldur said gently. "I can't promise unless I know what is wrong. Maybe I can do something. If I can, we can keep it just between us."

Reluctantly Superboy stripped off his shirt then stood there staring at the floor, his shoulders hunched as if waiting for a blow.

Kaldur gasped at the ugly gangrenous lesions concentrated on Superboy's left side, starting at his ribs then going up and over his shoulder to trickle down his arm. Some were small and greenish, like healing bruises, others were bigger and black, the worst of all were open sores, pits of necrotic looking tissue weeping pus.

In a state of horrified shock Kaldur reached for his com unit. "Robin, it wasn't nothing," he whispered still staring at Superboy. "Get Batman NOW. Superboy needs doctor, immediately."

"I can still fight," Superboy repeated mournfully. "I'm still useful." In a small voice he added, "Don't throw me away."

* * *

Dr. Midnight stepped out of his examining room. He canted his head to the side, listening for a moment, then frowned. "Why isn't Superman here?" he demanded. "The boy's a minor, as long as he's in costume his mentor acts as his legal guardian." He turned to Batman. "That is what you insisted on."

Batman and Black Canary exchanged an unhappy look. "Superman is not acting as the boy's mentor," Batman stated shortly. "He is a member of Young Justice. Canary, myself and Red Tornado have been acting as mentors to the team. In Superboy's case, in the absence of a better alternative, you may consider the three of us to be his acting guardians."

"Fine," Midnight nodded shortly. "Why the hell wasn't that kid taken to a doctor two months ago? There is no excuse for advanced gangrene in obviously visible surface tissue in this day and age in a developed country! Do I need to check the_ rest _of the kids under your care for negligence!"

Neither Batman nor Canary argued with Midnight's assessment.

Midnight sighed. "His cellular structure is breaking down. My preliminary theory is that there was a flaw in the cloning process that created him. I'll need to compare samples of his DNA with Superman's to confirm. Regardless, due to the length of time in which the damage went untreated it's become extensive. The dead tissue needs to be removed, just as soon as I can determine the best means of debridement. There's going to be significant, permanent damage. In the meantime, one of you get in there and start acting like a parent! That kid is terrified."

Batman and Canary looked at each other. "Roy always went to Ollie when he was hurt," Canary said. Then she shrugged, "Or more to the point he'd let Ollie catch him favoring a hurt and then Ollie would have to drag the story out of him and figure out what to do about it. Roy always felt embarrassed about me knowing he'd gotten injured."

Batman grimaced. He, Dick and Alfred had their system as well, but it had come about due to how badly he'd mishandled things the first time Dick had been seriously injured during Robin-related activities. Now if Dick got hurt he took it to Alfred. Alfred patched him up and reported back to Bruce. Then Bruce reassured Dick that the injury did not endanger their relationship or Dick's roll as Robin. After he'd been reassured Dick could relax enough to actually heal and things would return to what passed for normal. Still, he liked to think he learned from his mistakes.

"Remind Clark that Kryptonite exposure will cause a degradation in a DNA sample," Batman said. "An intense, localized exposure to red sunlight would be the best means of acquiring a useful sample."

"Thanks," Canary said, acknowledging the Batman was taking the tougher task.

Batman turned and walked into the dimly lit examination room. When he entered the room Superboy stood up quickly, coming to parade-rest the way the team normally did while Batman was debriefing them. Only this time Superboy was trembling so violently he could barely stay on his feet.

"Sit down," Batman ordered. The boy had been acting strange ever since Robin and Kaldur had summoned him. "I've spoken with Dr. Midnight. The problem seems to stem from Cadmus' cloning process."

Superboy neither sat nor did he look at Batman. He nodded jerkily. "The Genomorphs, same thing sometimes."

Batman noted that Superboy's breathing was too quick and too shallow. He stepped closer to do something before Superboy hyperventilated and the boy flinched away violently. Already unsteady on his feet, the sudden movement sent him tumbling to the floor where he stared up at Batman with panicky blue eyes.

'This wasn't normal', Batman thought, he threw out everything he'd learned for dealing with Dick except the part where he'd learned _not_ to assume he could guess at a teenager's reasoning process. Batman backed away and crouched down to put himself back on eye-level with Superboy. There was no way the boy would make it back to his feet as hard as he was shaking.

"Tell me what you're thinking." Bruce ordered, trying to keep his voice gentle.

"I can still fight. I'm still useful." Superboy began again desperately. Bruce said nothing, only gestured for Superboy to continue. "I can still help with the team. I'm still useful. For a little while anyway. You don't have to kill me yet."

Bruce could only stare, 'How had he come to such an insane conclusion? Thinking they'd_ kill_ him for being hurt?' He wanted to grab Superboy and shake him for thinking something so outlandish. 'Permanent damage, for such a fucking stupid notion.'

Superboy looked at the lesions on his arm with despair. "I'm defective, a mistake. Defective units are a waste of resources; to be rendered for their proteins and fed to developing Genomorphs, since they serve no other purpose. But I can still be useful! For a while at least. Don't kill me yet."

And suddenly Superboy's logic didn't seem so irrational, it was based on his experiences after all. He'd been taught to call himself a weapon. He'd developed in an environment where he was looked at as nothing more than an experiment, where life was engineered for specific purposes and had no value beyond it's ability to fulfill the purpose it had been created for.

"This is not Cadmus," Bruce snapped, his harsh tone causing Superboy to cringe away from him again. 'Two months, watching his body breaking down, thinking he was going to be killed when he couldn't hide it anymore,' Bruce reminded himself, 'It's no wonder he's a mess. Don't make it worse.'

He sat on the floor across the room from Superboy and leaned back against the wall, trying to be less threatening. "We don't kill people for being sick," he said plainly. "We brought you here so that you could be cured, not disposed of."

"Cure?" Superboy asked uncertainly.

"We're going to try to correct the damage. You are a person, your life is valuable. We don't kill people for being hurt, we try to make them better. You have worth beyond your usefulness to the team."

Superboy stared at him doubtfully, Bruce could see in Superboy's eyes that what he was saying was too different from what he'd been raised to think to be accepted as real. He looked very young, very scare and very alone.

Slowly Bruce reached up and pushed back his cowl, letting Superboy see his face, see his eyes. "I'm trusting you. Please trust me. Even with your injuries you are **not** 'a waste of resources'.

Besides, they're ours to waste and we do not consider you defective or a waste. To us you are worth fixing."

Bruce couldn't see any understand in Superboy's eyes; the idea that his life had intrinsic value was too alien for him to embrace; but he saw dawning belief that at least Bruce believed what he was saying.

* * *

As the mission ended Superman noticed Flash, Martian Manhunter and Aquaman gathering off to one side. After a moment Green Arrow joined them. "Batman, Canary and Reddy, not one of them answered the signal," Flash said, his voice full of unspoken significance and worry.

'The kids,' Superman realized with a start. He flew over to join the small group of mentors as they tried to contact their proteges.

"Kaldur reports that Superboy is ill," Aquaman relaid. "The team was sent to recover records from Dubbilex and the other Genomorphs who rebelled against Cadmus."

"That tallies with what I've got," Flash said. "It sounds like the kids are pretty shook up. We should check with Bats, see if there's anything we could do to help."

Martian Manhunter nodded. "At times he forgets to ask for assistance."

Clark drifted hesitantly on the outskirts of the group. He'd given Canary a DNA sample twelve hours earlier, in fact his arm still felt weak from the concentrated burst of red light that had been required to draw his blood, but he hadn't thought much about the clone after giving Canary what she'd requested.

"Bats, we just heard from the kids," Flash was saying as Clark turned his attention back to the group. "What happened to Superboy?"

"Cadmus engineered in a fail safe mechanism to prevent his turning against them," Batman growled. "Comparison with Superman's DNA showed a deliberate pattern of genetic defects. If he doesn't get regular doses of a stabilizing agent his cell begin to degrade. The notes recovered from Cadmus on the formula were incomplete. The Atom and STAR Labs are trying to fill in the blanks. Dr. Midnight is working on a treatment plan to contain the existing damage."

"Is there anything we can do?" Clark asked.

"Go visit him," Bruce answered instantly.

Clark didn't reply and the silence between them quickly became thick with tension.

"Your medical records don't list anything that can be used as an anesthetic," Bruce said, there was a strange note of surrender in his voice.

"Anesthetic?" Flash broke in. "Midnight wants to operate on the kid?"

"The degradation was allowed to progress far enough to present as gangrene. The dead tissue has to be removed," Batman replied. "Our best option is a high intensity laser to burn the necrotic tissue away."

"Cauterization? That's medieval! Why don't you just dump maggots in the wounds?" Barry demanded, outraged.

"We tried that, they don't eat Kryptonian," Batman said flatly. "If they did we wouldn't need the damn anesthetic, _they_ wouldn't damage the surrounding, living, tissue."

"Toyman!" Clark exclaimed. "He used some sort of gas on me a few months ago. It really warped my perceptions. I'll get you a sample. Maybe it could be modified to block pain."

* * *

"This idea's going to work out," Superman reported as soon as he recognized Bruce's voice.

"Clark, stop." Bruce said tiredly. "We're out of time, we're going ahead with the operation. Stop looking for a miracle pill. Just get back here and give him a hand he can't crush to hold on to while we cauterize the lesions."

"I'm certain this one will pan out," Clark insisted.

Bruce cut off the communication. "He's not coming," he told Midnight. "Let's get this over with."

Midnight nodded. "The equipment is waiting. I'll leave you to prepare Superboy."

* * *

"So once this is done you can come back to Mount Justice?" Artemis asked. "The base has been severely lacking in scenery with you stuck up here."

Superboy frowned at her. "That doesn't make sense," he complained. "Scenery is the ocean or the mountain. I didn't move them."

"Don't worry, Wally can translate 'flirt' for you," Robin said, volunteering the red-head with a grin. "But we are all eager for you to get back."

"I won't be on active duty," Superboy said. "Not until they make sure no new lesions are going to form and Canary says I can compensate for the loss of mobility."

"We'll still be glad to have you back on the base," Kaldur assured him.

"And you'll be back to normal in no time," Wally said. "The Atom, STAR Labs and Midnight, Uncle Barry says their absolutely the best. There's no way they can't fix something losers like Desmond and Cadmus screwed up. You're going to be fine, you just watch."

M'Gann hung back, she stared at the open sores visible on Superboy's arm with teary eyes. "Does it hurt?" she blurted out finally.

Superboy shrugged. "They don't hurt. The nerves are dead."

"That's-" M'Gann began with a forced imitation of her normal cheery outlook. Then her face crumpled because it wasn't good, and she knew that to be sure all the dead tissue was removed they would have to take some of the surrounding tissue and that would hurt. She floundered for a few moments. "I'm going to make chicken soup for when you get back," she declared finally.

"It's time," Batman said from the door way.

Superboy nodded. He got up and followed Batman down the hall to the operating room.

"You'll need to be restrained," Batman explained as Superboy stared warily at the frightening looking contraption waiting for him. "If you move during the operation it will cause additional, unnecessary damage."

Superboy nodded, his lips pressed together in a grim lime. He took off the scrub top he wore, exposing the rest of the lesions. He stared at the thing in the operating room with trepidation. It was harsh cold metal, designed to withstand his strength and hold him still and helpless against being hurt. Superboy cringed, 'If this was curing, maybe Cadmus' way was better after all.'

Batman removed his cowl and gauntlets, stripping away his armor and letting Superboy see the person beneath. "This is necessary if you want to stay with us." In the newly revealed eyes Superboy could see that Batman hated that this had to be done. "We won't kill you, but if you don't get treatment you will die. I'm sorry. It is going to hurt, but it's necessary. We want to keep you with us."

And the thing was slightly less terrifying with gentle hands guiding him to sit and lean forward so his arm and left side were position and secured for the procedure. A heavy, solid feeling ball was placed into his hand. "Squeeze down on that when it hurts," Batman told him. He covered Superboy's hand with his own. "We'll get this over with as quickly as possible. I'll be right here the whole time and your friends are just down the hall waiting to take you home with them."


	2. Recovery

**Recovery**

**Disclaimer:** Characters and premise are the property of DC, I'm just borrowing them for a little non-profit fun.

* * *

"It's over."

The words meant something important but they seemed to come from a long way away.

He felt detached and hazy. He felt as if he's ripped himself out of his body and was just observing what had been done to it. Expect for his hands. His hands must still be in his body because he can still feel Batman's hands wrapped around them, not letting him go.

He tried to protest when the hands were taken away. It came out as a ragged whine and the sound felt like acid in his throat. But the hands were back, with a cool rag, touching his face, washing away tears and sweat. "Don't talk. Your throat's raw."

Other hands were smoothing a gel that felt like ice over his arm and left side. It drew away the horrible burning heat.

The touches were putting him back in his body. For some reason he was nervous about that. Then he remembered, "It's over," that meant it was okay to go back.

He tried to unclench his fists. It was hard, the metal balls he was holding had squished like putty between his fingers. He had to wiggle his fingers a bit to work them free of the metal.

The straps that held him helpless were being taken away. The hissing, cracking sound of the laser splitting the air is gone too he belatedly realized. Then he was being helped up, away from the hurting place. Shoulders under his good arm, a strong steady hand on his chest.

Batman had his cowl back on and Superboy wishes it wasn't. He misses steady blue eyes that don't avoid his gaze, even when he can see regret in them.

Then it was a few steps down the hall to the room where his team was waiting.

They looked strange as Batman helped him to the bed. M'Gann's eyes were red. Wally's mouth was bleeding, his lower lip looked like he bit through it. Artemis' arms were wrapped around herself and her fingers were white and bloodless. Robin and Kaldur looked like they know the new trick he learned of not being in your body when it hurts too much.

For several moments they stared. He felt the weight of their eyes on him while Batman urged him to lie on his stomach because the worst of the burns are on his back. There was something cold and smooth under his arm, protecting it from the roughness of the sheets.

When Batman steped back the team rushed forward. They touched him, light delicate touches that he could barely feel, as if he might break. Ruffling his hair, brief squeezes of his good hand, light pats on that arm. Like the earlier touches they helped settle him back in his body.

The cold gel made his left side numb and kept the hurt away. Without meaning to he fell asleep.

* * *

"How is Superboy?" Red Tornado asked.

"He screamed until his voice gave out but it's done." Batman stated. "Atom believes he's completed Cadmus' formula, it shouldn't need to be done again. He'll need to have a daily injection for the rest of his life, he's lost 40% of his range of motion and 15% of his strength on his left side, but it's over."

Batman spun sharply and punched the wall with enough force to leave a dent. A change of clothes and two showers since the operation and he swore the smell of charred flesh was still clinging to him. The Joker was a cakewalk beside sitting in that room telling a child that it was okay and it would be over soon while they preformed an operation on him that could easily have doubled as torture.

* * *

Superboy blinked and looked around the room to see who was sitting with him. He was aware that he'd been sleeping on and off for over a day. Dr. Midnight told him it was his body's way of dealing with the trauma of the operation and that it was a good thing. Every time he'd woken up someone had been there. It was... nice.

At first, when he felt more distant from his body it was always Batman or Black Canary. They would give him ice chips to suck on and tell him not to talk. Then they would hold his hand until he fell back asleep. Their touch was different from his teammates, it was more sure, more consistent and it made him feel safe.

Later, after he could stay awake for more than a few moments, after his mind stopped playing games and acknowledged that his body wasn't a separate thing that he could step away from if it started burning again, Batman and Black Canary allowed his teammates to take over watching him.

This time it was Robin, only he looked funny. It took Superboy several minutes to realize Robin wasn't wearing his mask or his sunglasses and that was why he looked so strange.

Robin smiled in greeting when he noticed Superboy's eyes were open. "Hurrah for accelerated healing," he said softly. "It's been fifty hours but your burns look like they're a month old. We stopped putting the ice-gel on a few hours ago and Dr. Midnight says you can leave whenever you're slept out, but give it another day before you try talking. Your nightmares haven't been giving your throat much of a break."

Superboy looked up at Robin, puzzled. He gestured to his arm.

"You screamed your throat bloody," Robin sounded unsteady as he explained. "And you went into shock from the pain. It was worse than they thought it was going to be, the tissue damage was more extensive than the nerve damage. They didn't realize that until they'd started. The good news is Dr Midnight checked several times and they got everything. No follow-up operations needed."

Superboy felt a wave of relief. If someone had told him he had to go through that again... Well, he didn't think he could have made himself walk back into that room a second time.

"Also, I've decided we're practically brothers now. After all, he let you see him without the cowl," Robin continued. "For a little bit at least, I'm going to be the older brother. So warnings and wisdom: As soon as you're healthy enough to offer up a defense, if you so chose, you'll be getting a lecture to end all lectures. There will be growling and many, many dire worst-case scenarios presented. Although how he's going to top you dying for dire, I can not imagine and that almost happened. So you earned the lecture okay? Just remember: he wouldn't be yelling at you if the thought of you getting hurt didn't scare him."

"Why?" Superboy asked, his voice emerging as a broken whisper.

"No talking," Robin scolded. "And it's because he cares about you. We all do."

"You know, you really freaked him out. Bad enough that he didn't catch me eavesdropping. So I know a little more than I'm supposed to about what you said to him before. More advice: I know it's hard to let go of what you've been taught is true. But with the team you're safe, you can let down your guard. For the next couple of weeks, I want you to do that. I want you to forget everything you learned from Cadmus. Forget what Desmond said you were. Let us show you what you are to us."

* * *

"It's pretty late, but you probably don't want to sleep, not after sleeping for two days, and two days! Hello M'Gann! He's got to be hungry. I made chicken soup and Jello and ice cream," M'Gann babbled nervously as she floated the various items over to the table. "Don't feel like you have to eat everything, I sorted needed something to keep occupied. So I cooked. I got orange juice too, but Robin said it was acidic and could hurt your throat, but the website said it was something good to feed people when they're sick. Artemis said we should have just bought the ice cream, so we could get your favorite flavor. But buying it from the store seemed so impersonal, and it doesn't take much time. Also when I said I wanted to make ice cream for you Wally ran home and borrowed his Aunt's ice cream maker. And um... Well I don't know what your favorite is. What is it?"

Superboy opened his mouth to answer then hesitated.

M'Gann slapped her forehead. "Hello M'Gann! He's not supposed to talk! Sorry."

Superboy tapped one temple with his finger then gestured to M'Gann.

"I can read your mind?" M'Gann verified.

Superboy nodded.

/Okay, I'm listening,/ M'Gann's mental voice confirmed a moment later.

/Thanks. You went to a lot of trouble,/ Superboy thought back.

/You haven't tasted anything yet silly,/

M'Gann caught a half-formed thought about it being easier to appreciate her nervous-cooking attempts without knowing what it tasted like, which she dutifully ignored as he was trying not to think it. /So, ice cream flavor?/

/What's ice cream?/

M'Gann pointed. /It's sort of a frozen milk and sugar thing. The cold should feel good on your throat./

Superboy quickly traded the soup for the ice cream. /It is good,/ he thought back a moment later.

M'Gann blushed "I'm glad you like it."

* * *

"Superboy, your medication," Red Tornado said quietly the evening after Superboy had returned to Mount Justice.

Superboy got up and followed him to the infirmary.

"With the current formulation the drug is most effective if administered intravenously. However that necessitates overriding your body's natural defenses. We have considered several different means of accomplishing this, but felt that the final choice should be left to you." He gestured to a lamp arrangement , "Exposure to red light will weaken your powers enough to allow your skin to be penetrated. The process is painless and safe. Kryptonians lived under a red sun for generations. However it will take time to recover fully, more than a day."

'And I have to take daily shots,' Superboy thought. 'I'll never be ready to be part of the team again that way.'

"The other option is Kryptonite," Red Tornado continued reluctantly when he saw the stubborn look of refusal settle over Superboy's features. He placed a small lead box on the table. "Recovery is more rapid, Superman has reported it takes one to two hours before he feels completely recovered after exposure to Kryptonite. However, we don not know the effects of repeated exposure, it may not be safe for you. And it will hurt you."

Resolutely Superboy tapped the box.

"I truly wish you would reconsider," Red Tornado said. "Even without your full strength you can work on rehabilitating your arm. We continue to look into other options for you. You can could use the red light now, with little impact to your plans for the next few months, then re-evaluate once your re-joining the team became more imminent."

Superboy tapped the box again.

"You are certain?"

"Not active duty," Superboy said in a careful whisper. "But emergencies? Want to be able to help, if needed."

"As you wish," Tornado agreed with reluctance. He sat the prepared injection on the table beside the box. "Please place your arm here, I would like to do this as quickly as possible to minimize your exposure."

Moving swiftly and smoothly Red Tornado removed the small sliver of Kryptonite from the box. He touched it to Superboy's arm, just below the elbow. Superboy gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as the veins in his arm darkened angrily. Red Tornado slid the needle home then locked the Kryptonite away as he depressed the plunger.

When the needle was gone Superboy grimaced and rubbed his arm. He drew back when his hand encountered slick, fresh scar tissue just about the injection site.

"For now, I will administer your injections every evening," Red Tornado said. "Once a method which does not require Kryptonite exposure is settled on you will be taught to handle this yourself. We do not wish to compromise your independence."

Superboy nodded. He rubbed his arm again being more careful to avoid the scars. Then went back to his room to sleep off the lingering effects of the Kryptonite.

When he turned on the lights in his quarters Superboy was surprised by how bright and warm they seemed. It was almost felt like being out in the sun. He got ready for bed then went to shut off the lights. His hand hovered over the switch for several moments then he left them on. Leaving the comforting radiation to lull him to sleep.

At breakfast the next morning Superboy tentatively tested the lifting of his ban on speech by raising the subject of the lights. He wondered if they were really different or if it was just his perception after spending so long in Dr. Midnight's dimly lit clinic.

"You like them?" Wally asked hopefully. "They're full-spectrum lights, more like sun light than normal light bulbs. See you're like a solar battery so now you can keep recharging even when you're inside and maybe you'll get better faster."

"I like them," Superboy confirmed, only a hint of raspiness left in his voice.

Wally beamed.

* * *

"Authorization A2, Batman. Authorization B2, Robin," the base computer chimed as the pair teleported into Mount Justice.

"Superboy?" Batman called as Robin went to join his teammates while Superboy reluctantly took his place at the dark knight's side. For a moment Batman rested a hand on Superboy's shoulder. "Dr. Midnight is waiting," he said turning Superboy toward the teleporter.

Once they'd vanished Artemis said "This is the litmus test isn't it?"

"Come on, it's just a formality," Wally argued. "This is science! If Atom says he's got the solution, that's it, problem solved!"

"This is medicine, this is a chronic condition," Artemis snapped. "It means you try things to control it and hope they work. And you check back constantly because your body keeps changing and maybe what worked six months ago doesn't work now. Then you're back to square one, and while you look for something new that works, the disease gains ground and eventually you lose."

"I bugged his room, it took me three tries to find a spot that Batman hadn't already bugged," Robin said. "He's not hiding any new lesions. Atom's serum is working, Supey's going to get a clean bill of health for his two-week check up. Can we agree this is a good thing?"

"I think we should celebrate," M'Gann said. "Black Canary told Superboy that she'd start helping him get ready for light duty if this check-up goes well."

Looking mostly at Artemis Kaldur said. "I believe it will be most helpful for Superboy if we maintain a positive outlook. Do not predict trouble, but I would not place undo emphasis on his return to active duty. That Superboy is not endangered any longer is what is important."

* * *

"Ready to get started?" Canary asked.

"Yes," Superboy replied forcefully.

"Mostly we'll be working on stretches today," Canary warned. "You're still healing and we need to keep your arm limber. With some work you'll probably regain at least part of the mobility you've lost."

Superboy nodded.

"Once we've got a better idea of what your limits are I'll start teaching you to work around them," Canary continued. "You've worked out one of the basic techniques on your own: Hide your weaknesses."

"But!" she added sternly. "You've got to work on know when to do that. We hide weaknesses from enemies, not friends." Canary grasped Superboy's arms tightly. "You don't have to hide from us okay? Your teammates, Batman, Red Tornado and I, we want to help you. Don't shut us out."

"I learned," Superboy said with an unhappy glance at his heavily scarred arm.

Canary hugged him briefly. "I wish you hadn't had to learn in such a harsh way," she said.

Then she stepped back becoming more business-like. "You'll have to stick with the long-sleeved costume for a while." An apologetic look crossed her face. "The scars are too obvious, any opponent who sees them is going to target your left side. With more experience you'll learn to use them to lure opponents into making predictable attacks that you're ready to counter, but that's for much later. Now we just focus on getting back as much as you can."

* * *

Superboy felt someone watching him as he applied the lotion Batman had given him to keep his scars pliable. He turned and saw Kaldur.

"I'm sorry," the other boy said.

"Why is everyone saying sorry?" Superboy asked. "Even when they don't say it, everyone keeps talking to me in the sorry-tone. It's not your fault. Cadmus made me wrong, I didn't want you to know."

"I should have realized sooner, without Robin pointing out your injuries to me," Kaldur argued.

"I didn't want you to," Superboy frowned.

Kaldur shrugged. "Regardless, I wish I'd realized. We all wish there was more we could do to make it better."

Superboy straightened his arm and raised it roughly thirty degrees above shoulder height. "It is getting better."

"That is excellent."

"No one asks when I'll be back on active duty," Superboy said.

"We _do_ want you back," Kaldur said. "But it is worrying that you hid something like this in order to stay on the team. We want you on the team, but we want you alive more. You are our friend."

"I- Robin said to watch. I have been, he's right. I-I'm not a weapon to you." Superboy looked away. "Why? I'm not good at being a person."

"You _are_ a person. You don't have to _try_ to be one," Kaldur insisted forcefully.

"How do you know? I wasn't made to be one. Superman doesn't think I am, or he wouldn't-"

"You should know that Superman tried to find something to make your operation easier," Kaldur said. "He is assisting with the efforts to make the injections better. None of us understands why he finds it so difficult to simply talk to you. However, that is his problem, it is not you. You are a person. I look in your eyes and see you trying to make sense of the world around you. That is what we all do. You are right that Cadmus made a mistake when they were making you. You are not the weapon they intended you to be, you are much more than that."

* * *

Wally tapped his foot impatiently and so rapidly that it sounded like a steady thrum to his teammates. "Are we ready to go yet? I'm starving, the restaurants downtown are calling!"

"Superboy, where would you like to go?" Kaldur asked.

Superboy shrugged. "I don't know."

"Alright, does anyone else have strong feelings? I do not wish to spend the evening wandering from place to place bickering over where we are going," Kaldur said.

"We had Chinese last time we went out," Artemis pointed out.

"The Mexican place is too dark," Robin complained.

"Only because you wear sunglasses at night," Wally disagreed. "Plus, chips and salsa! Can't go wrong with free appetizer."

"What about 'Chocolate Sushi Tofu'?" M'Gann suggested. "I think it sounds interesting."

"No!" Wally and Artemis exclaimed in tandem then glared at the other for holding the same opinion.

"It looks too fancy," Artemis said.

"I'm picking up the tab," Robin reminded.

"Dude! Tofu!" Wally objected.

"It doesn't matter who's paying, I'm just worried about the loud mouth getting us kicked out," Artemis said jerking her thumb toward Wally.

"Supey, please have a suggestion," Robin encouraged. "Or they'll fight all night."

"The buffet?" Superboy offered hesitantly.

"All you can eat? I can get behind that," Wally seconded.

Artemis shrugged. "For some reason no one's saying it, but we are celebrating your return to active duty. You should get to choose the restaurant."

"Light active duty," Robin qualified with a protective glance at Superboy.

"We have a majority," Kaldur declared. "Shall we depart?"

As the team headed toward the door M'Gann bit her lip then said, "Um, Superboy?"

He glanced at her questioningly.

M'Gann flushed then gestured to his feet. "Shouldn't you?"

Superboy looked down, startled to discover his shoes weren't on. The look of totally surprise on his face sent a premonitory shiver down Wally's back.


	3. Set Back

**Set Backs**

**Disclaimer:** Characters and premise are the property of DC, I'm just borrowing them for a little non-profit fun.

* * *

Wally tore through the base refrigerator rapidly assembling an unstable tower of junk food that barely fit on the plate. Then he withdrew to the table with his booty.

A short while later Superboy came in. He took a cup-of-noodles out of the cupboard then turned on the tap while he opened cup and rummaged around in the dishwasher for a spoon. He filled the styrofoam cup with water then brought his lunch over to the table. At the first spoonful Superboy's nose wrinkled up in disgust. "This tastes wrong," he complained.

Wally told himself that the Gegnomes and Cadmus probably hadn't considered teaching Superboy about instant food to be a priority. "You need to heat it up," he explained. "Just stick it in the microwave for three or four minutes."

Superboy gave up on glaring at the unsatisfactory soup and blinked at Wally. "I didn't zap it?" he asked in bewilderment and Wally's blood froze.

"Stay-there-I'll-be-right-back!" he exclaimed as he blurred toward the teleporter. He left the matrix at a dead run, slowing to human speeds only as he reached the steps of the Central City Police Department. "Gotta see Uncle Barry!" he told the desk sergeant forcing the words to come at a comprehensible speed.

"He's back in the lab Wally," the sergeant said as he waved Wally past him.

An endless few seconds later Wally made it to the lab. "Uncle Barry! Something's still wrong with Supey. He was making ramen and he didn't heat it and ten seconds later he couldn't remember that he didn't and it's not the first time he's forgotten weird stuff and he was supposed to be fixed!"

"Easy Wally," Barry said. He turned to one of his co-workers. "This is urgent. Could you sign me out?"

As they left Barry sent off a quick text message. "Taking SB to Dr.M, meet us there."

* * *

Batman and Robin were waiting in Dr. Midnight's waiting room when Barry, Wally and Superboy arrived. "What happened?" Batman demanded. He pulled Barry aside while Robin joined Wally and Superboy.

"It was a small incident, might be nothing," Barry temporized, then sighed. "But it might be a good idea have an MRI done all the same."

Batman caught Barry's arm in an uncomfortably tight grasp. "You think the lesions spread to his _brain_!" he lowered his voice to a furious whisper as he glanced across the room at the three boys.

"I think it wouldn't hurt to check," Barry said quietly.

Batman grimaced, "You're right."

* * *

Batman realized the print-outs were crinkling in his hands and very deliberately set them on the table in front of him. Destroying the evidence that the lesions had spread to Superboy's brain wouldn't change the fact of it.

"The serum stabilized tissue in his muscular-skeletal system," Atom reported. "We assumed the nerve damage he experienced a secondary effect because it was so limited in comparison, we were wrong. We're working on a new formulation."

"Do we remove the dead tissue now or after the serum's finished?" Black Canary asked. "What hurts him less?"

"We remove it now," Dr. Midnight replied. "First, one of the lesions is near what would be the medulla oblongata in a human. If that lesion is allowed to grow it will quickly begin to effect autonomic functions such as breathing. Beyond that the dead tissue releases toxins as it degrades which increases the rate at which the surrounding tissue is effected. From what we've seen new lesion formation is slower than the growth of existing lesions in terms of total cell loss. We operate now and repeat as needed until the formulation is completed." He looked way. "At least there are no pain receptors in his brain."

"I'll be preforming the operation from inside," Atom said. "We won't have to find a way through his skull."

"The impact?" Batman demanded shortly.

"The effect of damage to the brain is always difficult to predict, and that would be true even if he were human. Superman sent us all the information he possessed on Kryptonian physiology, but they didn't fully understand the functioning of the brain anymore than we do. Further, the electrical activity mapping we've done thus far shows that Superboy is atypical for a Kryptonian: Activity is unusually concentrated in a few areas. This has nothing to do with the degeneration. If I had to take a guess, I'd say is most likely due to his learning occurring through memory implants rather than actual experience. All I can really say at this point is that the symptom Wally noticed, difficulty with completing sequential task, is unlikely to go away."

"The areas are quite small," Red Tornado said. "I have heard of cases where the brain was able to... rewire itself, thus restoring lost functionality after brain damage was incurred."

"It's possible," Dr. Midnight replied. "It is also completely out of my hands."

"In other words, pray for a miracle," Batman stated acidly.

"Yes," Midnight agreed unruffled. "At this point all we can do is minimize the damage and hope his brain is capable of adapting. Given that his thought processes currently appear adapted to a highly unnatural state, there may be cause for hope, but no one could promise you a favorable outcome."

* * *

From a hundred miles away, Superman heard the inarticulate screams of rage and the sounds of rocks shattering. It sounded like some sort of mindless creature on a rampage, what he saw when he arrived did little to dispel his initial impression. He was thankful the quarry was abandoned as he watched Superboy lash out at everything around him for no apparent cause.

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded, standing in mid-air above the quarry with his hands on his hips. In response the furious clone uprooted a boulder about the size of a minivan and lobbed it at him.

Superman caught the boulder and let it drop. "Okay, that is enough!" he ordered. He swooped down and grabbed the furious teenager by the arms hauling him away from the scene of destruction through simple brute force.

Superboy screamed at him, he kicked and twisted and fought, without regard for tactics. There were no niceties, Superman can tell the kid didn't give a damn which of them got hurts as long as he could continue to lash out. The occasional swear-word mixed in with wordless growls was the only sign that the clone hadn't simply gone feral. It didn't matter, Superman was stronger and larger and in the air his ability to fly gave him even more of an edge over his younger clone.

Suddenly the clone's left arm turned slick and hard to hold and the smell of iron filled the air. Superman let the boy go and backed off in alarm. He stared at the blood on his hand and the broken scar tissue on the clone's arm his stomach twisting. "I'm sorry," Clark said as he settled to the ground.

Superboy wasn't, he was free and ready to fight and Superman was there. Clark blocked the sloppy, angry punch and held his ground. A closer look at his clone showed tear traces in the dust on his face and Clark was feeling more and more out of his depth. "Talk to me! What happened?" he demanded to no avail.

After blocking several more punches that were hard enough that he knew he was going to have bruises in the morning, Clark tried grabbing hold of the kid again. This time he was more careful, trying not to hurt him. "Calm down!" In the background he heard a plane landing.

"Enough." Batman didn't raise his voice but the wild-cat of a child in Clark's arms went limp. Cautiously Clark released Superboy. He wanted to warn Batman to keep his distance, that the boy was dangerous with the way he was lashing out, but Batman has never responded well to being reminded that he's only human.

"You have every right to be angry," Batman told Superboy and from the set of his mouth, Clark could see that Superboy wasn't the only one who was angry. "But that is enough of throwing tantrums."

Superboy started to say something then glanced warily at Superman.

"I have the situation under control," Batman stated, dismissing his colleague.

Clark felt guilty but mostly he felt relieved to be excused. As he flew away he could hear the boy, "You said I wouldn't have to, not again."

"We were wrong," Batman replied.

"I can't, won't. No more."

"If you choose to die, I won't stop you," at Batman's flat statement Clark turned around and started back.. "It won't hurt, but I'm not going to lie to you and say it will be fine. Dr. Midnight explained the your options. Doing nothing, allowing the lesion near your brain stem to grow until it kills you is one of your choices. I won't take it away from you. But I would prefer that you keep fighting." From a distance Clark watched as the boy surrendered, his shoulders slumped and he followed Batman docilely back to batplane. There was nothing for him to contribute, Batman was correct, he has the situation under control, Clark wasn't even completely certain what the situation was.

* * *

"Authorization B6, Red Arrow." The computer's mechanical voice seemed to echo more than usual to Roy's ears. From what he'd heard the members of Young Justice were sticking closer to their mentors and hometowns these days, leaving Mount Justice abandoned between missions. 'Hard for them to be here with Superboy gone,' Roy thought.

As Roy continued deeper into the base he heard faint sounds of battle. Warily he followed the noise to the gym. There he found Robin in the middle of a combat simulation. The little ninja fought without his typical battle cries or wise-cracks, he was focused completely on causing destruction.

After watching for a few minutes Roy moved to join the fight. He almost got a kick to the head in thanks but Robin recognized him and diverted the blow at the last moment.

"Bats is going to have your head when he checks the logs and finds out you ran it at this level without a spotter," Roy commented.

Robin ignored him in favor of smashing another combat-bot. Roy shrugged and picked his own opponent. Several minutes and a half-dozen 'bots later Robin started talking. "_Another_ round of operations. Over and over again and there's less of Superboy _left_ every time," he ranted. "He's never going to be okay again and it's still getting worse! They're doing their best and he's still getting sicker! They're the fucking Justice League! Why can't they stop it?"

"Even they're not all powerful," Roy said, "but I have some connections in places they don't."

Robin killed the simulation.

Roy took a small, metal vial out of a pouch on his quiver. "A sample of the stabilizing agent Cadmus was using on Superboy. There should be enough for STAR Labs to begin duplicating it."

Robin stared up at Roy worshipfully as he accepted the vial. "How did you get this?"

Roy gave him a twisted half grin. "Now that's my secret, but I wouldn't mind if you gave me a twenty minute head start before you told anyone where that came from."

The worship in Robin's eyes transformed to worry. "Roy, what did you do?"

"Don't go all Bats on me little bird, I've got it under control," Roy said. He gave Robin another odd smile. "Just remember, no matter what it might look like, I'm still your friend."

Before Robin could agree, disagree or make-up his mind as to which he intended Roy had pulled an arrow out of his quiver an shot it into the ground at Robin's feet. The younger boy was instantly engulfed in a cloud of knock-out gas.

Roy hastily backed out of the room and sealed the door. "Sorry kid, I should have known you'd be stubborn," he said as he left. "Anyway, tell Superboy to get better soon. I hate seeing all of you hurting."

* * *

6 Months Later - The Daily Planet

"Well, look at you, Lois," the sarcasm in Cat Grant's voice made Clark wince. Cat was cranking things up to nine and Lois had never been one to back down from a challenge. "All dressed up and we don't even have a pool going on who's security is going to be throwing you out."

"I'm not surprised it slipped past you," Lois replied with poisonous sweetness. "It's not really my sort of story that I'm investigating after all. Still, I suppose it's not your fault that when a real story drops into your lap you can't recognize it."

Clark sighed as Cat snatched a photo off of Lois' desk. He pushed his chair back, putting more distance between himself and ground zero before the next strike could be called in.

Cat gave the photo an unusually serious look. "Lois, leave Brucie alone. He's fun guy and a good sport. But you don't want to be pressing this button."

Clark stopped edging away. As far as he knew, Bruce only had two hot buttons as far as a gossip columnist like Cat Grant would know: His parents and his ward. Bruce Wayne had made it pointedly clear that he didn't answer questions about his parents and he wouldn't tolerate anything that could be construed as slander against Dick Greyson.

"No one knows anything about the new kid," Lois exclaimed. "No interviews, the kid barely leaves the Wayne Manner, hell, I can't even find a last name! Someone is hiding something big. And _that_ is a story."

Clark moved around to get a look over Cat's shoulder. He hadn't heard anything about Bruce taking in another ward.

"What it is is intrusive. Not to mention a lawsuit in the making," Cat argued.

"What are you? A reporter or a mouse?" Lois demanded. "There is something about that kid that's being covered up and I intend to find out what it is."

Clark's breath caught. Everything about how the boy in the picture held himself screamed wrongness, but there was no mistaking that it was Superboy standing between Bruce Wayne and Dick Greyson.

Cat shook her head. "The Greyson kid is sharp as a tack, born to be in front of an audience and he handles interviews beautifully. But you say the wrong thing about that kid and you can pretty much count on a career change. Rumor has it there's more wrong with the new kid than the obvious. You think Bruce is going to be _less_ over-protective of him?"

"The obvious?" Clark asked, his voice tight. He wondered how Bruce could have _not_ told him.

Cat directed Clark's attention to the forearm cuff around Superboy's arm and he realized that the boy was using a crutch. "We may not print much about the kid but we do take notes." Cat spared Lois a haughty look. "I hear he has some pretty serious scarring but the way he moves? I'm guessing cerebral palsy or something like it; a brain disorder."

Clark sat down heavily. He didn't know what to think or feel. 'Why wasn't I told?'

"We're not talking abut Lex Luthor here," Cat continued. "Lexy doesn't like seeing anything unflattering when he reads the paper. Sometimes you've got to say damn the lawsuits, just to remind him he doesn't own everyone in this town. Brucie? He gives us plenty of copy. Supermodel or heiress of the week? Print whatever you like about his love-life, true or not someone'll get a good quote out of it when the story gets back to him. Then there are his extreme sports. First, the man is an incredible athlete but he doesn't have even a passing acquaintance with common sense. I wouldn't even believe some of the stories he tells if I hadn't seen the scars with my own two eyes. Brucie is always good for an exciting column." Then Cat stopped. She shrugged and dropped the theatric tone. "But he wants to be a good parent. Which means not letting the tabloids run rough-shod over his kids just because they're his. Who are we to get in the way of that?"

Lois rolled her eyes.

"The only story here is that the new kid is too fragile to handle much attention," Cat stated. "For people who look it's as plain as the nose on your face. Still Bruce did bring him to Metropolis, so maybe the media ban's lifting. It's a pretty good plan when you think about it, introduce the kid at one of Lex's big shows of public spirit and it's a footnote, do it in Gotham and it's all anyone will talk about. But Lois? Stick to your own turf, there are a lot of people who've been waiting patiently for Bruce to formally introduce the kid, you scare him back into hiding and we won't forgive you."

"Lois, maybe Cat has a point. This isn't our beat," Clark said while privately resolving to have a discussion with a certain Bat as soon as superhumanly possible.

"Oh no, I know a story when I see one," Lois said stubbornly. "There is just something about that kid, something that is just on the tip of my brain. Something about this really doesn't sit right and I am going to find out what is going on. So help anyone who gets in my way."

"Then I'm coming along," Clark sighed. "We are partners."

"And someone has to hold her leash," Cat added as a parting shot.


	4. Miracles

**Miracles**

**Disclaimer:** Characters and premise are the property of DC, I'm just borrowing them for a little non-profit fun.

* * *

It took Clark most of the event to get Bruce alone, and even then he only managed it long after Dick and Superboy had retired to their rooms... and after Lois had mysteriously vanished.

"If you're looking for your partner Robin left her in a utility closet on the fifth floor," Bruce said flatly without glancing in Clark's direction.

"You said he was cured," Clark accused. "Roy bringing the cure was what tipped Young Justice off to his involvement with the Light!"

"Damn half-baked plan to prove himself by infiltrating the enemy," Bruce muttered. "Nearly getting himself killed thinking he's a double agent when he's really just playing into their hands."

"You said he was cured."

"I said Roy provided us with Cadmus' stabilizing agent." Bruce stated coldly. "If you'd been paying any attention at all you would have known it did nothing for the damage that had already been done."

"You should have told me!"

"If I'd had a quest to send you on I would have," and Clark started hearing the anger under the ice in Bruce's voice. "What he needed, needs is the very thing you've consistently refused to give him: attention."

For several moments Clark glared. He tried to find the right words to refute Bruce's accusations. "What happened to him?" he asked finally, the shock he'd felt ever since Cat had first pointed out the crutch overriding he desire to lay blame for having been blind-sided.

"The lesions spread to his brain," Bruce said. "Before we were able to stop them the damage had caused memory loss, difficulty with sequential tasks and hypertonia preventing the extension of muscles in his right leg. And there's still the physical damage from the earlier lesions."

Clark could only stare as Bruce laid out the full extent of the damage Superboy had suffered.

"The memory loss at least is correctable. Relearning things normally rather than through implantation even appears to be shifting the activity in his brain back toward a more normal distribution. He's undergoing physical therapy for the loss of muscle tissue in his arm as well as for the hypertonia."

"When will he be okay again?" Clark asked sounding lost.

Bruce glared at him furiously. "Parts of his brain are gone!" he snapped. "He's relearning things he knew a few months ago. He uses his wrist computer remind him of things that should be routine. He's on muscle relaxants and maybe, maybe with enough refinements he'll be able to walk without the damned crutch again. But even then there are still the occasional spastic events when it suddenly gets worse for no reason at all. On top of that there's the stabilizing agent that he has to take just to keep his body from breaking down!"

"STAR Labs managed to reformat all his medication into so that they can be administered as an inhalant. We don't have to expose him to Kryptonite every day just to give him a damned shot. Instead he just sleeps with a gas mask because it takes the whole night to get an effective dose. Okay? That was a pipe dream by the third time we cut into his brain. I'm shooting for getting him to the point where he can stand to live with it."

Bruce sounded angry, frustrated and tired and Clark suddenly realized as much as Bruce really was upset with him he was also a convenient target. Angry, that was normal, for Bruce anyway. Frustrated, given what they did they all had their days. No matter how many villains they put away there were always more, there were always the ones who wouldn't stay away. Tired, tired was not normal, especially not for Bruce. It occurred to Clark that the situation with Superboy was wearing him down in a way that nearly a decade of fighting a war that couldn't be won hadn't.

"Why didn't you ask me for help?" Clark felt like he'd asked this before, or maybe not. This time he's asking about Bruce as well as Superboy.

"One of the _few_ mercies this nightmare has granted him is that he forgot you."

Clark drew back. Bruce's words hurt and from the look in the other man's eyes they had clearly been meant to. "I've been trying to help Superboy," Clark protested.

"Anything that doesn't require being in the same room with him," Bruce replied acidly. "His name is Conner, by the way. Superboy would ve raised a few too many questions when I was filing the paperwork. Not to mention it's cruel."

"I've been doing what I can, what I know," Clark exclaimed. "I never knew how to deal with him, with what he wanted from me. What am I supposed to do?"

"Now? Nothing." Bruce's tone left no room for debate. "Now, we've managed to convince him that he won't be killed if he's not useful. Now, he's come to accept, even if he doesn't understand, that we value his continued existence, even now. At the moment an emotional equilibrium has bee reached. When _Conner's_ recovery reaches a plateau and it's no where near what he wants, what any of us want, it's going to be bad. I'd rather reserve what little resilience he has left for that rather than wasting it on your discomfort with his existence. Once I told him to give you time. Time's up, he gave you more than enough."

* * *

The next day Clark discovered he couldn't concentrate. Lois practically had to shake him to get his attention. He tuned out in the middle of Perry shouting about... something? He'd have to ask Lois what Perry was upset about. Even in the middle of a fight with one of Luthor's creations Clark found himself more absorbed in listening to a voice from a posh hotel room across town than he was in the fight.

Superboy, Conner kept up a near constant conversation with his computer aid. Over the course of the morning Clark had come to realize that the computer must contain step-by-step instructions for all of the boy's routine activities. Conner would quietly note each thing he did and the computer would beep at him if he skipped a step. More than once Clark heard Alfred biting back offers of help, letting the boy figure out what he could still do for himself.

Red Tornado dropped by during the early part of the morning to help with Conner's physical therapy. Clark found himself getting angry that he hadn't been asked to help all over again at the realization that a large part of the therapy for the boy's leg required someone with superhuman strength. Then all of Clark's anger drained away as it hit him that if it had been Wally or Dick who had been hurt no one would have needed to _ask_ Barry or Bruce to help.

Then Dick joined Conner and both boys settled down to attend to their respective studies. The sound of pages turning and the scratch of Dick's pencil against paper was companionable enough that Clark managed to wrench his attention back to the article he was supposed to be writing for almost two hours, until: "I hate this!" Conner's angry exclamation was accompanied by the sound of a dull thud and the fluttering of loose pages; a book disintegrating after being thrown at a wall. "I should just know this!"

"You're not supposed to 'just know'," Dick argued. "All of the rest of us had to learn."

"I hate being stupid!"

"Look at it this way: Six months ago the alphabet got erased from your mind, now you're reading pretty well. It took me three years to get that far."

"You were a little kid."

"And you're how old? A year and two months? I'm the older brother remember?" Dick insisted. "And I say you're doing great."

* * *

Three days later when Clark woke-up with his hearing focused in on Gotham and Conner's morning rituals he wondered what was wrong with him. Always before it had been so easy to decide that the boy was someone else's problem and put him out of mind. He wasn't Superboy's father, no matter what Bruce might say. He had no responsibility for the boy's creation, he hadn't asked to have his DNA stolen and turned into an angry, lost, dangerous teenager.

When Bruce told him the boy needed him, Clark had told Bruce to deal with him. And Bruce had. Bruce had taken care of the boy when he'd gotten sick, had named him and had become Conner's legal guardian. Now the only thing anyone was asking from Clark was to stay away. Why was it so hard now to do what he'd done since the first? Now, when no one wanted him to take an interest in the boy Clark found his attention turning to Gotham every few moments.

He discovered that he felt vaguely jealous when he learned that Bruce brought Conner along with him to most of the business meetings he was required to attend as the president and primary stock holder of Wayne Enterprises... and that Bruce would spend the whole of the meeting working with Conner on cognitive exercises. Clark could imagine how Perry White would react if he brought family matters to work. Bruce's top execs were apparently just glad that Bruce was there, awake and that he didn't reek of some model's perfume.

Superboy's former teammates were apparently frequent visitors in Gotham these days. Clark was surprised that Bruce was willingly tolerating so many Metas in his city. And it wasn't just the kids. Clark hadn't been wrong when he'd thought Bruce sounded tired, but he hadn't realized it had been enough to convince the normally intractable dark knight to change. Batman was apparently as prickly as ever about other vigilantes operating in his city but the other mentors were allowed to help with Conner however they could, even if it meant Bruce had to trust them with his identity. The kids in particular seemed to have a specific agenda: they were trying to help Conner find interests he could pursue. From what Clark could hear it wasn't going so well. The only interest Superboy had ever had was being a hero.

"Mom, could I talk to you?" The hesitation in Artemis' normally strident voice drew Clark's attention away from Wayne Manor. "It's about one of my school friends."

"A friend? At your _new_ school?" Artemis' mother asked teasingly. "And you said it would never happen."

"Okay, fine Mom, Gotham Academy hasn't ruined my life, I admit it. Now are you going to help me or not?"

"Of course, I'm your mother, I live to advise you."

Artemis hemmed for a minute. "One of my friends from school, his brother is disabled and it's pretty recent. I study with them sometimes, and I can see the brother, well like I said. It's recent. He's sort of on the verge of having it sink in that things aren't going to go back to what they were. I thought, maybe... You're life didn't end because of that wheelchair. I thought maybe you could talk to him? I don't know what to say, or not to say, and you know my mouth, I'm practically scare to talk to him at all in case I say the wrong thing. But well, you've been where he's at and you're still here and could you talk to him? Please?"

A state away and ten minutes after Clark overheard Artemis' request Lois snapped her fingers in front of her partner's nose. "You in there Smallville?" Lois gave a slightly exasperated huff. "You've been a space case all week. You want to tell me what's on your mind?"

"Sorry Lois," Clark said. "It's... personal stuff I've been trying to sort out in my head."

"Well, judging from the way you've been staring off into nothing looking miserable, you're not making much progress," Lois said

Clark sighed. "Around a year ago I was asked to take an interest in a-a kid from my hometown...he'd just... moved to the big city. I didn't. Said he didn't have anything to do with me. The kid got hurt, bad. It wasn't anything I could have stopped, at least I can't think of anything I could have done to stop what happened. Still, I feel guilty. From what I've heard no one expects him to really get better. His friends and, well, family, they're trying to get him to accept that. It makes me want to shake them, for giving up on him."

"Doesn't sound like they're giving up him," Lois replied bluntly. "It sounds like they're being realistic. You know, Smallville, one of the things I think is -cute- about you is you believe in happy endings. But in the real world, sometimes you have to settle."

"So he's just supposed to deal with it?" Clark demanded.

"It sucks, but yeah. Better for him to get over it and get on with his life than to waste away wishing for what should have been."

"Course, that's not the big story here is it?" Lois asked. "Someone asked you for help, and you said no. That's not exactly like you Smallville. Why didn't you want to help?"

"I can't remember," Clark replied softly, his voice strained. "I must have had a reason, right? But I think back and I can't remember anything that makes much sense to me."

* * *

Clark was with his parents when it happened. He hadn't been going to see them nearly enough, not for the last year. Ever since Superboy appeared Clark had found going home to be increasingly difficult. His parent had figured out right away that something was wrong, but they didn't push. They'd always had a good relationship and they trusted him to know when to ask for help, trusted his judgement.

Lately they've been pushing him to talk. Clark hadn't yet. He couldn't think of what good it would do. Not now, not anymore. Superboy, Conner's legal guardian had been distinctly clear about not wanting him to be a part of Conner's life. Clark couldn't see how it would help to tell his parent that they sort of, kind of, but not had a grandchild. Who was physically and mentally disabled. Who they couldn't see. Because he hadn't wanted anything to do with the kid when he'd been asked to take responsibility for him.

Still Clark was glad he was with his parents when it happened. With anyone else he'd have had to make explanations, with his parents? He heard Conner cry out in pain, heard him fall and Clark was hundred miles closer to Gotham before the plate he had been holding hit the floor of his parents' kitchen.

He found Conner lying on the ground, curled in on himself, gasping from the sudden onset of pain. He looked horribly, unnaturally small and the angle of his leg was all wrong. For a moment Clark was certain that the leg was broken, even if he couldn't image how. But X-Ray vision showed that the bones weren't broken, they were being pulled out of place by muscles that were contracted well beyond what was natural or healthy.

It took several seconds for Clark to notice that Bruce was there too. Bruce's face was hard and grim, no cowl but Bruce Wayne's public mask stripped away completely. He didn't look as shocked or terrified as Clark felt. Bruce forced a breathing mask over Conner's mouth and nose. "Deep breaths. Come on. I know it hurts, I know you don't want to scream. But stop holding your breath. Deep breaths. It will help. Trust me."

The medication gradually took effect. After several minutes that seemed to go on for centuries the spasming muscles relaxed. Conner lay half in Bruce's lap, exhausted from the attack, sobbing softly and holding on much too tightly although Bruce didn't appear to be bothered. "Make it stop," Conner begged.

Bruce stroked Conner's hair, he offered physical comfort but no words, no promises. For a moment Bruce's eyes met Clark's over the top of Conner's head. At first Clark didn't know what to make of the guilt in Bruce's eyes, then he remembered Bruce talking Superboy into going through with the operation, into clinging to life. In Bruce's eyes Clark saw that, in moments like this one, he wasn't sure that this was the lesser evil.

The next thing Clark knew he was at the Fortress.

The hardest thing Clark had ever had to learn about being a superhero was that he couldn't save everyone. No matter how much power he had, no matter how hard he tried, bad things still happened and even he couldn't save everyone. But Superboy, Conner was a child. One of theirs, maybe not his anymore but still one of their children. Surely that rule didn't apply to him? How could they be so helpless when one of their own children was hurting?

Clark couldn't stop moving, restless, purposeless movement. There had to be a way. Had to be something they hadn't tried yet. Something they hadn't thought of yet.

He glanced down at the ring he'd absently picked up, at the stylized 'L' with the multi-pointed star above it. It was a memento, a token, but most importantly it was a signal. A signal that would be heard in a place that wasn't, yet.

* * *

The trio appeared in a flash of light: A teenaged boy with green skin and blond hair, a pretty, blonde girl with a ringed planet as her emblem and a dark haired boy in a black and purple body-suit.

"Kal!" the girl exclaimed. "Look at you! It's so strange to see you all grown-up."

The two boys also greeted him warmly, but there was a touch of wariness in their eyes.

Clark addressed their concerns directly. "I know there are rules governing time travel. I know those rules exist for a reason... I also know you've bent them before. I've always abided by your limits. I've never pressed you to show me or tell me anything you weren't comfortable with. I've never asked you to bend the rules for me before. And if it can't be done I'll accept that. But I've never asked before, so please? Hear me out and please consider what I'm asking you to do."

"Kal, we can't even hint about anything in your future," the girl said sadly.

"That's not what I'm asking," Clark said. "What I need to know is if there's a way to regenerate damaged neural tissue in the 31st century."

"We can't help you," the green-skinned boy stated.

"At least consider it," Clark protested.

"It's not that we don't want to," the other boy said. "We can't help. The technology you're asking about exists, but it won't work for anyone in this time. As a routine check-up everyone in the 31st century has detailed scans of themselves in a healthy condition. Without a healthy template to work from the tech is just so much scrap. Maybe we could justify lending you some tech from our time, but for this to work we'd have to go back to a time when your friend was healthy. And that's not just bending the rules, that's feeding them to a planet crusher then using the remains for target practice."

Clark smiled brilliantly. "It'll work," he said. "We have a healthy template. He's a clone of me, so I should be able to serve as the template shouldn't I?"

"Theoretically," the green-skinned boy admitted. "Still, there are considerations. We can't just jump into the past and change things. You know that."

"We could go back and check into it," the girl suggested. "Run a few scenarios, see if it would really cause any problems, couldn't we?"

"It never hurts to check," the dark haired boy agreed. "I mean we haven't done anything yet have we?"

The green-skinned boy rolled his eyes. "You might as well go get him. No matter how bad an idea this is, they're going to find a way to justify it and you know it."

* * *

Clark watched the beam rastering over Superboy's form. The boy was suspended within a matrix of light. To Clark, the legion's medical device seemed to work a bit like a teleporter only in slow motion. It's beam swept over Superboy's body, inch by inch it destroyed him and created him anew.

Brainiac5 had needed to modify the process to account for the difference in Clark and Conner's ages. He assured Clark it wasn't totally unheard of, that sometimes data would become corrupted or someone would let their yearly check-ups laps and it would become necessary to use an older scan. He claimed that aging a scan up was actually more challenging than de-aging the template data, not that either could actually be considered a challenge to someone with a 12th level intellect.

Regardless of how certain Brainy is of his abilities as Clark watched the procedure he found himself remembering the scene at the Fortress when his three friends from the future had explained that only Clark would be allowed to accompany Conner to the future for treatment. The thought of going through an operation without Bruce watching over him had upset Conner. While Bruce had pulled the boy aside to reassure him Dick had had a few words for Clark.

The smile on the thirteen-year-old's face had made Clark's skin crawl. "This _won't_ end up hurting him more than he's already been hurt. Or else." It should have been ridiculous, the top of Dick's head was barely level with the bottom of Clark's rib cage and that was completely ignoring the issue of powers. But Dick, Robin, was totally serious, and Batman's protégé, not someone to be taken lightly. But for Clark the real shock was the saddening realization of how much trust he'd lost over the last year.

The first step to being worthy of having that trust renewed was being there for Conner at lest this once when Bruce wasn't allowed to be. It was easier said than done. The genetics they shared didn't actually mean much. In truth he and Conner were almost complete strangers. The implanted memories from the Gegnomes had proven frail and easily damaged. Without those memories all Conner had to remember of Superman was being ignored or avoided a few times. While they waited for the final adjustments to be made to the Legion's regenerator Clark sat beside the silent, withdrawn teenager and tried to think of something useful to say. He hoped his presence wasn't making things worse instead of better. The way Conner's gaze seemed to avoid the S-Shield on Clark's chest as if it hurt him to look at it was a bit disquieting.

When Conner reached up to rub his collar as if it were some sort of talisman for the forth time in as many minutes Clark took a closer look, X-Ray vision showed that it was one of Batman's tracers that the boy was using as a touchstone. "He wanted to come," Clark offered.

"I know," Conner said. "He sat with me every other time." The boy hesitated for a moment then added. "This is the first time an operation is supposed to make me better. The others were all just to keep me from getting worse, to stop me from dying. It hurts to think about it working, because what if I think that then it doesn't work?"

Clark was spared having to come up with an answer by Saturn Girl coming over to tell them they were ready to start. After that the only thing for Clark to do was wait and hope Conner was worrying over nothing.

When the beam reached Conner's arm Clark's breath caught in delight. It was the first place where there was visible, external damage to correct. There was something wondrous about watching the lurid scars vanish to be replaced with smooth, unmarked skin.

When it was done Clark helped Conner to step out of the healing matrix. Conner stared at the unblemished flesh on his arm with wide eyes. Then he took a deep, steadying breath and very hesitantly shifted his weight on to his right leg. He took a careful step and then another. He glanced back at Clark. "I'm awake?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, this is real," Clark assured him. He offered the boy an encouraging smile.

Conner tried a few more steps then a tentative stretch. Clark could see he was still expecting the moment when his muscles would betray him and refuse to obey. Conner bend and straightened his knee then his ankle several times and found no resistence, his body wasn't fighting his desire to move. There was hope in his expression as he glanced to Clark again. "I'm-" he stopped and corrected himself, "The damage is fixed?"

Clark felt an unexpected surge of gratitude for whoever had been teaching the boy not to refer to himself as something that could be broken or fixed. "It should be," he confirmed.

Impulsively Conner ran across the room and back. "Thank you!" he told Clark. It struck Clark as slightly odd, the boy didn't sound any different from the hundreds of people who have thanked Superman for saving them over the years.

"I'm just glad I knew someone who could help," Clark deferred like he had hundreds of times before. Accept their thanks gracefully, then let them go back to their lives.

For the first time since Clark showed up in Gotham with the promise of a cure Conner's gaze settled on the S-Shield. There was frank curiosity in the boy's eyes. "I used to wear that, back before everything went wrong." Clark heard the question buried under the statement, he was asking if there was a connection between them. But it was just curiosity speaking, there was nothing of the intense, overwhelming, frightening need that filled the boy's eyes that first night in the ruins of the Cadmus lab.

Clark nodded. "You did, I'd be glad to have you wear it again."

"Thank you," Conner's response was gravely polite and showed hints of Aqualad's influence on him. Then a trace of eagerness crept into his voice, "Is it okay if we go back now?"

"A few tests first," Brainiac 5 interjected. "Initial observations indicate success but hard data is better than subjective impressions."

As the tests progressed Conner's anxious impatience to be back grew. By the time they left the Infirmary for the time-platform he was practically bouncing on his toes with eagerness to be home.

When Brainiac5 pulled Clark aside Conner shot the green-skinned boy an irrate look and Clark could practically hear him think 'Not another delay!'

Could I have your ring back?" Brainiac5 asked quietly. "We shouldn't have helped this time, but we found a way to justify it, because you asked us to. If you ask again, we'd find a way again. If you give in to the temptation having access to the future represents, our rules and knowing better aren't going to stop us from going along with you. So it's for the best to just remove the temptation now. I always said getting involved with you, with such a critical part of our past, was a bad idea. You proved me right today, let's not compound the mistake."

Clark slid the ring off his hand then joined Conner on the platform. A moment later they were back in the Fortress, back in their own time. Conner's eyes went immediately to Batman. He took a few steps forward then Robin darted around his mentor and met Conner half-way.

"You're not limping, that means your brain isn't misfiring," Robin deduced.

Conner nodded. "They checked: No crossed signals, no skips... I still don't remember long division though."

"You'll learn," Robin laughed. "And I can say it, finally! The team hasn't been the same without you. I can't wait until you're back on active duty."

"They were able to use my DNA to correct the genetic flaws Cadmus designed into him as well," Clark said quietly to Bruce.

"Thank you."

Then Conner's gaze went back to Bruce and Clark recognized the anxious, hopeful look from the first time the boy had looked at _him_. "It's good to see you well again Conner," Bruce said with a slight smile.

At the sound of his given name on Bruce's lips the tension drained away leaving Superboy healthy, happy and accepted.


End file.
